


blowing up bushels of fun

by dinosaur



Series: 10 Days of Ficletmas [9]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaur/pseuds/dinosaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn pulls his eyes away from Harry's terribly pink lips and nods towards aisle 14. "Well our specialty candles are over there, some pretty good coated wood and potpourri-like stuff. Might work better for -"</p><p>"Are they big enough for the fireplace, though?" Harry asks, craning around Zayn to look at the aisle.</p><p>"The - what."</p>
            </blockquote>





	blowing up bushels of fun

**Author's Note:**

> amalgamated from [tumblr](http://imlikenah.tumblr.com/tagged/10dof). on a fateful day in early december i had an Intense Reaction to [this au post](http://imlikenah.tumblr.com/post/104209923365/captainasexual-fun-holiday-aus-for-you-to). and my inevitable downfall into the 10 Days of Ficletmas was decided.
> 
> so, on the eighth day of christmas, i gave to you,  
> zarry: you keep coming into the store i work at to buy wreaths, what are you doing with all of these wreaths? au
> 
> title from jingle bell rock

The first two times, Zayn doesn't think anything about it.

It's the hols, people come in to buy repeat shit all the time. Just yesterday, a guy in a tux came in at 10 and again at 1 to buy 50 sticker books. Zayn didn't ask.

Not asking should honestly be their first employee policy.

So, Zayn follows doesn't ask, the third, the fourth and the fifth time the cheetah-print- chelsea-boot dude comes into the shop to buy one of the large scented wreaths.

The sixth time, he stops stacking ribbon rolls to stare.

The seventh time, he moves halfway across the papercrafts aisle before he reminds himself it's none of his business and turns back.

The eighth time, he leans against the edge of the bell display next to the wreaths and waits. The guy takes a moment to consider the wreaths, like he hasn't seen them for a week straight now. He's gentle enough moving them, Zayn almost expects him to ask if they're okay.

Zayn presses a hand to the aisle wall to ground himself.

"Are you alright, mate?" Zayn says.

The guy whirls fast enough to make his trench swirl.

"Yes." he says, bright and clear enough to belong in the bell section himself. "Thank you for asking. Are you alright?"

Zayn smiles a little. "Yeah, I'm good, thank you."

There's an easy silence for a moment, unpressured and welcome. It almost feels like being home on the couch, like touching a pen to paper after a long day shoving aside every attractive stray line. He can feel himself relaxing into it and it's disconcerting. He straightens a bit, bites the inside of his cheek, hard.

The guy is patting the top of one of the cinnamon wreaths now.

"They're not alive, you know. You don't have to rescue them one by one from our evil clutches." Zayn says, shaky in the face of this soft something between a complete stranger and himself. Like Louis was a complete stranger, Zayn reminds himself gently.

The guy curls over with laughter, grins back at Zayn. He feels it in his chest, sharp like mint tea and a good hit.

Zayn shakes himself a bit, feels a little unsteady in his sturdy boots on the perfectly level floor.

"Can I help you with something?"

The guy sticks a tongue into his cheek, sheepish but unashamed.

"I've been in here a lot," he asks

"You've been in here a lot," Zayn says.

The guy smiles, and it's a good smile. At least an 8 on a Niall scale. Zayn smiles back without meaning too.

"I'm Harry." the guy puts out a hand, like that's how you greet employees you meet at crafts stores.

Zayn shakes gently, appreciates it.

"Zayn."

Harry's smile curls into a grin and he nods down at Zayn's chest knowingly. Right. Employee. At work. Dressed in clothes. For work.

Zayn rolls his eyes at Harry, the situation and himself. Then steps up next to the wreaths.

"Anything wrong with em?" he nudges.

"It's just sometimes, the bristles are too short or the twine is too fraying or the plastic too soft and - "

Zayn nods along.

"It burns too quick."

Zayn stops nodding.

"Barely any smell at all." Harry finishes, frowning.

Zayn blinks for a moment, controls his What-The-Fuck, Customer look reflex. "Are you doing a fire piece?"

Wreaths are not fire recommended, former 8 year old Zayn with best friend Louis Tomlinson is an expert on this matter.

"I just wanted something with a spring in it, you know" Harry says, gesturing his arms in front of him with determination. Like if he gets the edges of this imaginary shape proper enough Zayn will remotely understand what he's saying.

Zayn puts on a smile and nods. "Yeah, I know."

Harry grins back. It almost makes the situation worth it.

Zayn pulls his eyes away from Harry's terribly pink lips and nods towards aisle 14. "Well our specialty candles are over there, some pretty good coated wood and potpourri-like stuff. Might work better for -"

"Are they big enough for the fireplace, though?" Harry asks, craning around Zayn to look at the aisle.

"The - what."

"Fireplaces are big." Harry says.

"Yeah?" Zayn feels like he doesn't wanna ask, asks anyway.

"So when I put the wreath in, it takes a lot of space. Candles didn't. And I like these fragrances better." Harry says, shooting the wreaths a fond look.

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment, argues with himself - surely not, there's no way.

"Harry, these wreaths aren't like fragrance sticks. You don't - I know they say 'New with Great Fragrance!' but like they really don't mean, as fragrance producers." Zayn says, trying to not sound exasperated and finding it's almost as hard as not sounding fond himself.

Incredible.

"Oh." Harry says, looking at the wreaths.

"Yeah."

They both look at the display for a moment.

"Right, well." Harry pivots, swinging his hips enough Zayn's eyes track the movement even as he clenches his teeth and forces his eyes to stay on Harry's. "You've been really nice to me. What do you say to dinner and me returning the favor?"

The dimple in Harry's cheek makes a very grand, noted entrance.

"That was a terrible line." Zayn says, just to clarify. Then, he pulls his pen out of his back pocket and offers it to Harry. "But I'm off at 8."

He offers his arm to Harry. Gently, Harry takes both, eyes tracing over the stark lines of Zayn's sleeves.

Zayn watches Harry write his name and number carefully in the space between his ZAP and mic, feels himself going soft for the way Harry concentrates so hard on not touching the tats. And maybe going a little hot for the way Harry's tongue presses between his teeth as he does it.

Harry looks up before he moves back, still holding onto Zayn's hand and the image of Harry bent over in front of him has him closing his eyes to get his breath back. When he opens them, Harry has straightened up and is smirking outright at his expression.

Zayn shrugs a bit and catches at the pen still in Harry's hand. He takes it back, makes sure to brush his fingers over the length of Harry's fingers, the back of his hand, the soft inside of his wrist. Harry bites his lip.

Zayn draws back and smiles sweetly at him.

"I think that's mine. But do let me know if you need any other assistance." Zayn says.

He walks away, fast enough he knows his shoulders are accented by the stretch of his shirt, but not so fast he can't hear the sharp inhale Harry takes and the heartfelt "Wow." he whispers.

Zayn taps his leg and hums a few beats of the jingle bell rock playing overhead.


End file.
